


Mi Companero

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 01:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14149434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: While listening to music, Napoleon contemplates his future.





	Mi Companero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the wretching](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+wretching).



The music was spirited and the guitar playing competent.  The words were a jumble of English and Spanish, which made sense as he was in a small _cantina_.  It bothered him that his partner had not yet put in an appearance.  He had vanished from the jeep the minute the vehicle hit city limits.  Salty Oliver couldn’t have been happier.  She made a great show of disapproving of his toilette.  Granted a week in a Mexican jail didn’t help anyone’s hygiene, but Illya had seemingly gone the extra mile, just stopping short of rolling in donkey manure.

Napoleon had found her distress a bit amusing.  He didn’t think Illya smelled all that bad, not for what the agent had gone through in the name of world peace and security.  There was still a fading bruise to his temple and Napoleon suspect if he looked closer, the mud and filth covered a score of other scrapes and bruises.  It had not been an easy assignment for the Russian.

 _Where are you now, my companjera? Your baby claw stuck in my chest Where are you now, my sonidera? Who took you from the nest_?

He contemplated the words of the song, his mind playing back over a decade of times when he was certain his partner had been snatched from him.  Somehow the man always found his way back to his side.  Although the word was feminine, it switched easily to companjero, companion.  And the bird reference only seemed to drive the words home even harder.

Illya was certainly that and much more.  Napoleon had never been closer to anyone before in his life.  He’d never wanted to be closer to anyone.  Salty had picked up on that, even thought it was largely left unsaid.  She was more astute than most of Napoleon’s brainless ladies.  She knew there was something more between the two of them.  .

_Eat and sleep without desire "Would you like window or aisle?" Oh, Miss Sky, you ever seen Warrior that's more fragile?_

Napoleon pushed the food around on his plate and acknowledged the truth.  Until he set eyes on Illya again, he had neither desire nor appetite.  And still the song went on

_Jetlag, hangover, malnutrition You can't fly in this condition And if no one intervene Out of the window is my mission_

He knew that Waverly could and probably would recall him any minute and yet, he knew he wouldn’t leave Mexico without Illya.  He couldn’t, not after what the Russian had been through for the mission.  No.  He pushed the unfinished plate of food away and moved to stand.  It was then he saw the singer.

For a moment his world hung in a balance and then tipped.  The singer grinned at him, his blue eyes mischievous as he sang the last chorus. 

Silly Napoleon though.  Illya had been here all long.  At his side, just like always.  That’s the way it was with partners. His partner. His _companjero,_ his world, his everything.

 

 

 


End file.
